e barrage laid down
by the Germans between them and the second-line trenches, continued
to fall. It effectually prevented French reinforcements from
coming up to the first line.

His automatic pistol ready, Dick Prescott found elbow-room on
the fire step. Cautiously he looked over the parapet.

For a moment he could see nothing, save that German shell-fire
had blown the barbed wire defenses to pieces, clearing the way
for the German invaders to reach them.

In the near distance Dick made out the shadowy figures of the
men in the first wave of the German assault.

Rifle-fire began to roll out from the French soldiers. From somewhere
at the rear, perhaps from emplacements in or near the French support
trenches, the steady drumming of machine-gun fire began. The
air was filled with death.

Dick Prescott's blood thrilled with the realization that he was at
earnest grip with the Boches!

CHAPTER XIX

A "GUEST" IN PRISON CAMP

In the terrific din of the barrage-fire the men of the first German
wave came on like so many silent specters.

They did not run forward, but moved at a fast walk. It was necessary
that they save their breath to use in the hand-to-hand struggle
that must follow.

Suddenly a French bomb left the trench, striking the ground just
in advance of the oncoming Germans. The pink flash of the explosion
lighted the set faces of three or four men of the enemy, one of
whom went to earth as a fragment from the bomb struck him.

Then bombs fell fast, all along the line. Prescott, singling
out an enemy while the flash lasted, let drive at him with a shot
from his automatic.

Though several of the Huns fell, the advancing line continued
unhesitatingly. The last few steps, past what was left of the
barbed wire, the Germans hurled themselves at greater speed.

Then invaders and defenders clashed. German bayonets thrust viciously
down into the trench, while French bayonets reached up to dispute
them.

Dick had backed away from the fire step. His back against the
further wall he was using his automatic pistol to the best advantage.

The first German to leap into the trench landed almost at the
feet of Captain Greg Holmes, who had crouched to receive him.
Rising, in one of his best old-time football tackles, Greg threw
the Hun backward with fearful force, then sat on his chest.

"You're my prisoner!" Holmes shouted at the prostrate. "Try to
rise if you dare!"

So hot had been the